


For Your Remains

by pinchpoint



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angst, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, warning for emetophobic folks for ch 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinchpoint/pseuds/pinchpoint
Summary: “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life. Talking animals and killer robots,” he says, feeling like it’s crude to portray it that way, “I really think this takes the cake. Gabriel Reyes bought a fucking cookie cutter mcmansion in a Floridian suburb.”--Reaper asks Jack to take a vacation with him.





	1. Chapter 1

Jack presses his forehead into the cool brick wall ahead of him. Reaper’s pressed against his back, grinding his dick into Jack’s ass while working at his belt. Jack braces himself as he feels it give way and his pants are pulled down to mid-thigh. 

“Leave the gloves,” he pants out, “I already got ready.” 

Reapers cold mask presses into the crook of his throat as he moans. He pulls back and his hands leave Jack for a moment to get his dick out. He wastes no time pulling Jack's ass cheeks apart and nudging the head of his cock against his hole. Jack curves his back and presses into Reapers push forward. It hurts in the way that he likes. When Reaper is fully seated, he pulls out and builds to a punishing pace. 

Jack reaches down to pull his dick out where it was trapped by the band of his boxers. He closes his eyes and squeezes the base before stroking up to the head to smear the pre-cum and press at his slit. He is hyperaware of everything touching him and the noises echoing around the space. He's breathing heavy as Reaper steadily fucks him raw, dick dragging against his prostate and driving Jack crazy. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out as Reaper changes his stance and slows his pace. The new angle makes him squirm slightly and he moans loudly. Reaper reaches around to grab Jack’s dick; the cold claws of his glove has Jack’s breath hitch and he braces himself again. The other hand presses into Jack’s abdomen, pulling him tightly to Reapers front as he sinks his dick in deep to hold it there for a moment. Jack can feel Reapers balls pressed to his. He immediately brings his hand down to grip at Reapers wrist. 

The momentum builds again, and Jack is scrambling, losing himself to the way Reaper fucks him mercilessly. He moans and grunts and pushes back into the thrusts. Reaper squeezes his dick and the sharp talons elicit slight pain throughout Jack’s groin. It’s enough to push him over the edge, his balls drawing up as he cums across the wall. 

“Stay in,” he says, and Reaper presses his mask back into the crook of Jack’s neck. He wraps both arms around Jack’s middle, fucking Jack into oversensitivity. He grits his teeth and bares it until he feels Reapers thrusts change. Reaper grinds in deep and gasps out his release, groaning through it. Jack could almost feel his dick twitch at the sensation of Reaper cumming in him. 

For a pause, there is only their labored breathing. Reaper pulls out and grabs Jack’s pants to pull them back up. Jack turns and leans against the wall as his fixes his belt. He’s zipping up his jacket as Reaper finishes with his belts. 

“Do you even have any reason to be in this city?” Reaper asks as Jack steps around him to grab his rifle. 

“No,” Jack answers. 

Reaper’s demeanor peaks Jack’s interest. This is normally straightforward. They do their thing, clean up, snipe at each other and then go their separate ways. Not unlike it was before or as its always been. 

“What?” Jack asks him.

Reaper shifts and points behind him, “I’m gonna take some time off so you may not see me for a while.”

That stuns Jack. It’s uncharacteristic. “Why?” he blurts out.

“I want to,” Reaper replies simply.

Jack hums and turns. It bothers him in some way, but he buries it. “I think I should get half the take for this,” he says, gesturing at the few bodies and piles of dust littering the warehouse floor.  
Reaper scoffs and pushes past Jack, “Of course you do. I didn’t need your help. This would have been quieter and cleaner without you and that stupid rifle.”

“You like my big stupid rifle,” Jack says seriously. Reaper shakes his head.

“See ya around Jack,” he says, sinking down into smoke and disappearing.

Jack ducks out of the warehouse into an alley. He follows dark and narrow passages around the city to a liquor store a few blocks from his safe house. He’s stashing his jacket and gear behind a dumpster when his communicator dings. The notification details a credit to his account, and he smirks. It was a good job, clearing his negative balance and easily setting him up for a few weeks of decent living.

He enters the store and greets the clerk, trying his best to convey that he doesn’t intend to rob the place. He knows he seems shady, scarred up and looking like he just murdered a few people. Which he did just do. He picks up three different bottles of whiskey and one bourbon. He gets the good shit too because he can. It’s nothing dropping more than a few hundred for it when he can afford it.

He grabs his gear from it’s hiding place and crosses the street to dip into another alley. He cracks open one of the bottles on his way home. No one he passes makes a comment or tries him. Even the guys outside his safe house playing some kind of game don’t acknowledge him when he walks by. He’s halfway through the bottle and feeling it as he fumbles with gear and his key. He presses his thumb to the print lock and manages to undo the deadbolt without dropping everything.

When he steps in and sees a familiar figure loitering in his living room he stops, “You said it would be a while. It’s been maybe 20 minutes.”

“I know but I had a question to ask you.”

He lifts the bottle to show Reaper, “If you wanted round two you should have said something then. You don’t like it when I’ve already started drinking.”

“I don’t want a round two. I want to see if you want to take time off with me.”

Two surprises in one night is two too many for Jack. He turns and heads to the kitchen, “You haven’t wanted to spend time with me in a long time.”

“You know I don’t remember before,” Reaper retorts, “besides this is now. I want to spend time with you now.”

Jack shakes his head and frowns, “you just want a willing piece of ass.” Jack watches Reaper’s posture tense and feels satisfied at hurting him back for even suggesting they vacation or whatever together.

“Fuck you for that,” Reaper spits back, “you think you’re so fucking obtuse. You want to say yes. I saw your face back there,” he says while pointing in the direction of the warehouse. “It bothers you that I’m going away, and you don’t know why.”

“Then fucking tell me why you want to suddenly take a vacation?” Jack throws back.

Reaper closes the distance to get in Jack’s space, “because I fucking want to.”

“That is such bullshit!” Jack throws his hands up. 

“You really piss me off sometimes,” Reaper looks straight into Jack’s eyes, “I want to figure out-” He pauses and breathes in and out. “I want to figure stuff out and I need time. I want you to come with me because I think you can help me do what I need to do.”

Jack stares. He watches Reaper intently before jumping in. “Fine,” he says, “I’m in. But I’m leaving whenever I want to.”

“Good. I have a condition before you can come though.”

Jack swears and points at Reaper, “you fucking bastard, you asked me to come!” 

“If you want to come then you have to stop drinking.”

Jack straightens up and sets his jaw. 

Reaper mirrors Jack's body language. “I have some of Gabriel’s things,” he says, “if you come, I will give them to you.”

“What the fuck is this?” Jack asks incredulously, “A fucking intervention?”

He’s absolutely pissed now. This fucking man, a shell of who Jack loved so deeply, is playing him. He’s dangling something precious in front of him and he damn well knows it. 

“When are you leaving?” Jack asks, pathetically relenting to the ruse.

“Now,” Reaper says, some tension leaves his body.

“I just spent a shit ton on this booze.” 

Reaper shrugs, “down the drain.”

“I’m going to come down you know,” Jack looks at the pale mask that covers Gabriel’s face. He hasn’t even seen it since they started this casual fucking thing again. 

“I know.”

“You going to take care of me through it?” Jack asks.

“I will. I planned on it.”

Jack scoffs, Gabriel and his fucking plans. 

Reaper points to the bottles on Jack’s counter and nods to the sink, “down the drain.”

“Like fuck I’m poring this down the drain,” Jack says gathering them up. He walks to the front door and snatches it open. Reaper trails behind as he approaches the group of men he passed before. They look at him like deer in headlights when he stops to get their attention.

“Hey guys, I wanted to give this to you,” he says as he hands the bottles over to the bewildered men, “turning a new leaf and getting sober, so I have to get rid of them.” The men look to Reaper behind them and seem to get even more uncomfortable. “Look the seal is unbroken,” Jack points out, “I’m not putting them down the drain for that fucker.” He turns and leaves them staring. 

“Let’s go,” he says as he walks past Reaper.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack has been sitting in the passenger seat of a champagne colored sedan for nearly two days and all he knows is that they are now somewhere in Florida. 

His patience is waning. He’s uncomfortable and sweaty. His 76 jacket was ditched ages ago, tossed carelessly to the back seat over his bag. He’s taken off his belt and untucked his shirt. The air conditioner is on full blast and it still isn’t enough. If anyone else were with him he would blame the weather, but he knows that excuse is pointless in his current company.

He tried to ask for a little leeway, at least for the trip so that the worst would not start until they made it to wherever the fuck they were going. Reaper said no and that was that. He let Jack clean himself up from their tryst and they took off. Jack was fine in the first few hours, even let himself feel optimistic about it. Now he feels miserable, shifting constantly and trying to hide his shaking. Reapers treatment might have felt cruel if Jack didn’t believe he deserved the suffering. 

The last few hours have seen them traveling down two lane back roads surrounded by forest that occasionally break into open pastures or housing developments. Reaper apparently did not need to sleep as he drove, only taking minimal breaks for maintenance or to charge the car. Jack never thought he would feel disdain for technology born from global climate change action, and yet he does.

He’s been in his head too long watching the landscape pass by in a green blur when the car slowing down jars him to awareness. They are turning into a community not unlike the ones they have passed during this leg of the trip. He watches the gate open as they pass through. Customary rows of palm trees frame the entrance, serving to remind him that even many miles from a beach, he is in a tropical paradise. When the cover of the entrance breaks past what he assumes is a community center, he takes in the sprawl of houses. 

Delusions are a symptom of withdrawal so maybe this isn’t actually happening. Maybe he is not about to spend the duration of this trip in what amounts to a pompous variation of suburbia.

And maybe he should feel like a hypocrite given all the grandeur he was paraded through during his time as Strike Commander, but he likes to think he maintained his humility through it. At least until his life went to shit. 

This community screams upper middle-class money. The houses they pass look mostly alike. The real difference lies in lot sizes they are placed on. Where they would commonly be placed so close together you could jump roof to roof, these homes appear to be on at least an acre or two of land. They all look well maintained, though he has no doubt there are fines assessed for disorder here.

He does allow himself a small sense of peace at the solar panels on the properties or roofs of the houses as well as the visible reforesting efforts. There may be tacky palm trees lining the grassy medians of the road they are traveling, but designated wildlife reserves make up for it in a small way. 

The car slows again, and they turn into the driveway of a house as unremarkable as the others. He may never find this place again should he leave and try to come back. Hell, he thinks, there might be some genius in this circle of hell after all.

The property is gated and again it opens automatically for them. They make their way down the driveway to pull through the perfectly timed opening garage door and park. As the garage door closes behind them, Reaper gets out and heads towards a door leading inside. He doesn’t spare Jack a modicum of attention. 

Jack gets out of the car slowly, stepping to the back to grab his jacket and seabag. He heads to the door, which opens up into the kitchen. It sports dark wood cabinets with shiny granite countertops and equally shiny appliances. Apparently, the popularity of an open plan layout is timeless. The kitchen bleeds right into the living room with only a breakfast bar and hard wood flooring to separate them.

It’s modern and contemporary mashed together. Grey walls, white trim, a massive sectional and tv placed centered on the right side of the room. To the left is a formal dining set and between that are accordingly styled doors leading to a screened in porch. 

He assumes Reaper disappeared into wherever the hallway leads to. He heads to the couch and drops his bag as he sinks down to sit. He doesn’t know how long he’s sat, hands pinned under his thighs, when Reaper comes back. He looks ridiculous in this space, having not shed his mask or costume for the entire trip.

“You can take the master while you are here,” he says to Jack while pointing down the darkened hall behind him. 

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life. Talking animals and killer robots,” he says, feeling like it’s crude to portray it that way, “I really think this takes the cake. Gabriel Reyes bought a fucking cookie cutter mcmansion in a Floridian suburb.” 

Reaper breaks his eye contact with Jack and sighs. “You’re really a prick Jack,” he says to the floor before turning back to the hallway. He strides out of sight and Jack watches him go, looking on until he hears a door slam.

He can’t help but be struck by the absurdity of this entire ordeal. Some part of him has held hope that one day something would snap and he would have Gabriel back. He’s even felt like Reaper was going through a slow evolution. Little bits of Gabriel shine through enough that sometimes Jack forgets. It seems like this relationship they have now isn’t all that dissimilar from the one they had before, just that he isn’t privy to Reapers daily life like he was with Gabriel. 

They are always miles apart. Most of the time Jack seeks Reaper out, crashing his gigs and initiating their hook ups. It bothers him to put it that way, makes it sound like this is just another addiction he can’t shake.

He pulls his hands free and takes in the way they shake. He’s tired and keyed up at the same time. He stands, grabs his stuff and shuffles down the hall. The master looks as he expects it to, massive bed and matching furniture. The bathroom has a huge garden tub and walk in shower. It’s all brand new, seemingly untouched. He looks into the mirror and realizes that against this backdrop, he looks as ridiculous as Reaper does. He’s disheveled and in need of a shower and shave and so much more.

He kicks off his boots and fatigues and leaves them in a pile on the floor. He pulls back the comforter on the bed and slides in. The sheets are too cold at first, but it hardly bothers him at this point. 

Closing his eyes, he rests without sleeping. He just exists and waits for the drop.

\--

A few hours into the trip Reaper started to feel overly anxious. He planned on asking Jack to come with him, it was almost the entire point. Every time he stumbled onto a piece of his life before Overwatch ended, he thought about it. Thought about putting all the parts into one space and finally making sense of it. 

Years ago, he woke up confused in a freezing metal drawer of a morgue. He punched his way out of that locker, scaring the daylights out of the staff there. When he made it out, he just roamed. He learned the hard way that people knew who he was even when he didn’t. And he grew so blindingly angry when he finally found out his story, the one peddled to the public at least. He was angry at everything and though he would never admit it, he was disgusted at himself too.

So, he put on a mask and changed his name and what he was good at slowly came back to him. Enough that he built a solid reputation. Enough that he had steady work, which he conducted for years without failure. Until Sombra dug him up just because she couldn’t leave well enough alone. She knew the power of information and though he felt there was some slight moral compass behind her moves, she was as ruthless as anyone else in the business.

She put him into places on purpose that exposed his former existence before his death. His acceptance of the narrative fractured and if she hoped to help him, he thinks she may be close to failing. Because now he’s standing in a room full of what remains scattered about. The sight of everything that meant something to him packed neatly away feels uncomfortably metaphorical.

He came here to make sense of it and since Jack can’t seem to stop being an asshole for one goddamn second, he supposes he should get to work on this first. He sheds the coat and the mask and the belts and the boots, the whole ensemble. The duffle on the workbench situated along the far wall is full of casual clothes, which he changes into. Comfortable in simple shirt and sweatpants, he sets to it. 

He opens a box and finds weapons, specialty knives and a few guns in cases that he must have collected at some point. He locks those away a safe in the closet. The workbench fills up quickly and he’s thankful he chose to make it so big. One side houses his art supplies and the sketch books he filled up as Reaper as well as the ones he found from his life before. The other side is littered with costuming gear, a broken sewing machine, bits of fabric and other tools. When he stumbles onto all of his medals he stalls. He could look them up to find out what they mean but it’s a low priority at the moment, so he puts them away in the safe too. If Jack stays and they can be cordial he’d like to ask him about them. 

Reaper does every menial task he can think of. The closet is neatly organized. Everything is put in its place along his work bench. Shelves are arranged in a tasteful manner. He even has some art on the walls, mostly things he acquired post resurrection, but a few are ones he found in his scavenging. In the end what is left is one box full of physical photos, a few handheld devices and thumb drives. It seems so uncharacteristic in the world of today, but he doesn’t question whatever his past motives were. Maybe he was just distrustful after the crisis. 

By now the sun has set, it’s been a few hours since he heard Jack pass by his door. All that is left to hold Reapers attention is if he will upset Jack by going without his mask. Jack is like himself, in that certain things upset him. In those moments, rationality goes out the door and all that’s left is frustration. 

Reaper worries because physically, he is fine. He can manipulate his appearance in a lot of ways, which is helpful in his line of work. He could make himself look exactly like he did 40 years ago when he met Jack. He could make himself look like a monster if it suited him. He chooses none of those things. He grabs a hoodie from the dufflebag on the floor and pulls it on. He flips the hood up, situates the mask and heads out of the room.

He’s gently shutting the door when he hears Jack retching down the hall. The master bedroom door is wide open as he passes through. The bathroom light illuminates the room. With it Reaper can make out the trail of puke Jack left behind. Its on the side of the bed, the carpet and the threshold leading to the bathroom. He walks in to find Jack leaned entirely against the toilet. 

He is spiting into the bowl as Reaper enters. His breathing is heavy as he rests his head in his arms. He’s pale and shaking all over and Reaper aches at the sight. He feels guilt for not checking on Jack sooner, letting his episode overshadow the promise he made.

“Jack,” he says to get the others attention.

Jack lifts his head and looks back at him. His face is flushed, and his eyes appear bruised. He lets his head drop back into the fold of his arms. 

Reaper grabs a wash cloth from the linen closet and dampens it. He drapes it across the back of Jack’s neck, trying to help cool him off. Jack turns his head and looks right at him. “I don’t want to go through this,” he says, voice sounding rougher than normal.

“I know,” Reaper responds.

“Why are you making me do it,” Jack asks.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I care about you,” he answers.

Jack stares at him for a long moment. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Behind the mask Reaper frowns. He’s thankful he kept it on for now. “Keep this rag on you. I’m going to get you some water and then get started cleaning this up.”

Jack nods and screws his face up. Reaper turns away before Jack starts to puke again, heading out of the bathroom to get things cleaned and prepared for the next week. 

He thinks that if in the end, what he and Jack have finally dissolves then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to gimme those song recs for these losers?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you liked let me know?


End file.
